The Scribe
by Azrie
Summary: The Hellsing Organization exists to protect the U.K. from the supernatural, and to hide the knowledge of nonhuman beings from the public. Why, then, was the novel Dracula-- a rather flawed chronicle of events that led to its creation, ever written?
1. Prologue

"The Scribe"

**Disclaimer**: I have never, and likely will never own Hellsing, or Dracula for that matter. I do, however, claim the idea which spawned of this story. And the words themselves, of course.

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_"Myth, memory, history-these are three alternative ways to capture and account for an elusive past, each with its own persuasive claim."_  
_ --Warren I. Susman _

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**Prologue.**

Excerpt from L. Harker's Journal,

March, 1938.

To most of society today, it is a given fact that vampires, or the living dead, do not exist, nor have they ever existed. Superstitions are based off of the inability of mankind to understand the mysteries of nature. Of course.

Another well-known fact within literate, modern society, is that the vampire known as "Count Dracula" perished during some point during the 19th century, as a direct result of his confrontation with one Professor Abraham van Helsing. This, of course, is due to the tantalizing gothic/horror novel published by Abraham "Bram" Stoker during in 1897, as well as of the subsequent play and motion picture. The novel, titled_ Dracula_ describes the exploits of perhaps the most famous vampire in the past millennium. Of course, Dracula never existed as a vampire, either. I have no doubt that _Dracula_ is becoming one of the most well known stories across the globe.

However, to a select group of people in England, and a handful of others that dwell abroad, all of the above statements are false. The "No Life King" known as Alucard, exists as the midian servant of the esteemed Hellsing family. This creature at one point answered to the name Dracula. He was defeated and enslaved by one Professor van Helsing, and shaped into the most potent weapon of England. He is the sword we wield in our struggle against the supernatural. Unnatural forces that threaten Queen and country all have fallen before him and the ones that hold his chain. If this fact was known to the general public, and proven beyond doubt to be true.. the world would likely descend into chaos.

It is not surprising that the majority of the modern world has forgotten about the existence of true monsters-- the reasons a human being should be afraid of the night. Only a few pockets of those that know better exists on this day. I have no doubt that this number will diminish as this century progresses. Even now, science, law, and reason replace religion and superstition as mankind's most sacred tenants. However, if vampires began to slip from the memory of mankind, and were regarded as a myth even in the late 1800s, how and why did Dracula's tale become known to Bram Stoker? Why was the myth of the No Life King (the creature's self-styled title) and his demise disseminated throughout the world? Did the van Helsing family arrange it thus to drive away the forces of evil with the knowledge of their great victory? Was it a tactic meant to deceive, and hide the most dangerous weapon controlled by the crown?

Few people, even those that walk in the highest echelons in this country, know the truth of the event.

I am one of them. The following tale was regaled to me by a well-connected childhood friend, one Arthur Hellsing, direct descendant of one Abraham van Helsing (and current reigning leader of the Royal Order of Protestant Knights), after I expressed my interest in the mystery.

Although it is highly unlikely that this journal shall ever see the light of day, (and if it does, I shall be most surprised if I am not labeled a madman.. or an author with a fanciful imagination) I feel the need to record the tale that was relayed to me one evening regarding the story of how _Dracula_, the novel, came to be, as well as its true purpose. Despite all my knowledge of the secret and most dark underbelly of the world, I am, after all, only an author and historian at heart.

This shall be a "secret history."

I shall do my best to to describe the events in both a chronological and (hopefully) logical order.

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So what do you think? I am largely unapologetic in my choice of topic.

Feel free to zing me a review.


	2. Chapter 1

"The Scribe"

Chapter 1: "A Not-So-Accidental Meeting"

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue.

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Setting: Street Leading up to Pimilco Park.

September, 1890. Pimilco, London.

It was late afternoon when a brown carriage pulled up near Pimilco Park, and a young man stepped out and onto a cobbled sidewalk. The man was tall and relatively thin, with bright, gray-blue eyes and short sandy colored hair that had a slight curl to it. He was dressed in a dark gray suit, covered with a light black coat-- for the weather was turning cool-- both were tailored to fit his thin frame. He closed the carriage door and nodded curtly to the driver, who only shrugged and spurred the horses into action, meandering back into the depths of London.

William Hellsing, for this was the name of the young man, watched the carriage until it was out of view before calmly sticking his gloved hands in his pockets and striding along the cobbled path into the park. The air was cool, and a chilly breeze ruffled his blond hair, making him pull his light coat tighter around him.

He seemed to have no particular destination in mind as he wandered through the park, admiring the twisted trees, just lightly touched with autumn colors. His even stride took him past a group of boisterous children playing tag, then a small pond with a pair plump but harassed looking ducks circling within, and finally, past a lone gray statue of a regal-looking man in a toga.

William wandered aimlessly until he spotted his target— a rather burly man with light red hair and a full beard, primly dressed, who was taking what seemed to be his evening constitutional walk—briskly following a cobblestone road that led around the edges of the park. At this, the young man sped up, seemingly eager to meet with this man.

After he caught up to the red-bearded man, and adjusted his stride to match his companion's, William cleared his throat, hoping to catch the man's attention. "Excuse me, Sir. Are you by any chance one Abraham Stoker, of No. 26 Saint George's Square?"

The man glanced at him, curiosity evident in his expression, though his tone was a bit guarded when he answered. "Yes. How can I help you?" William smiled, politely, and removed from his pocket a rather thick parchment envelope. "You can, indeed, help me. I am William Hellsing." He paused, as if uncertain how to proceed, "I have been asked to deliver to you, a letter, regarding a matter of great importance to my employer. All that we request is that the letter be destroyed once you have familiarized yourself with the contents. And that you consider the offer within from all angles before making a decision."

Bram's stride faltered a bit, as the young man offered him the envelope. _Hellsing? Why does that sound familiar? Could have been in the papers recently.._ The older man slowed, frowning while regarding his younger companion and the letter with a touch of suspicion. _Nevertheless, this sounds like shady business._ "Are you certain you cannot clarify any further?"

William paused in his walk, considering the question. Bram slowed to a stop as well, waiting. "Well. It's nothing dangerous, per se. My employer enjoyed some of your previously published works and wishes for you to write a story. Perhaps a better way of saying it would be—he wishes for you to embellish a tale that we have knowledge of. You would be free to publish it as your own original work; we would not contest it, and, in fact, encourage the idea." William smiled, and gestured with the envelope. "Of course, we will also provide reasonable compensation for the service rendered, and assist the resulting story or novel in being published, if you wish." Bram arched a brow. "May I ask the identity of this employer?"

William's smile turned a touch sheepish, and a light shade of pink flushed over his cheeks. "It's embarrassing, but I cannot answer that particular question. The details are provided in this letter I hold. Once again, all that we ask is that you destroy the letter after reading and consider the offer." Bram nodded politely, and took the offered letter. "Very well, Mr. Hellsing, I will consider the offer. I assume a way to contact you or your employer is provided in this letter?"

William smiled, suppressing a sigh of relief, "Certainly, as I said before, the details are provided in the letter. If you wish, I and my employer can call on you.. Some afternoon next week, if you are willing? Merely send a message with the best time."

Bram considered the proposal, before giving a short nod of acceptance. "Well, that seems acceptable.. I shall read the letter and send a message of my acceptance or refusal." William smiled brightly, and gave a short, polite bow. "I shall leave you to your walk then; I am expected elsewhere, shortly. However, it has been a pleasure making your acquaintance. Good evening." With that, the young man strode briskly down the path and out of the park. Bram watched the young man—William, leave with a slightly dazed expression, letter clutched tightly in his right hand. "What an odd man." He shook his head, and continued his walk, placing the letter into the pocket of his blazer. Soon afterwards, he turned towards home, his thoughts lingering on the odd encounter, and on the letter he was to read.

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Apologies to my readers for taking so long to update, my muse abandoned me to my graduate studies, thesis, and work. In other words, I had both a busy schedule and an advanced case of writer's block. (The busy schedule was further exasperated when I decided to study for the MCAT test-- the single worst exam I've ever seen or heard of, and joined an evening review class.) Still, I promised an eventual update, and, true to my word, have delivered. It's a bit shorter than I would prefer, but unfortunately writing this was like squeezing blood from a stone, despite all the planning and drafting I did earlier. (I decided a "shorter" update was better than none at all.) Hope you enjoyed. (And remember: I'm oath-bound to finish this and all my uncompleted stories; never despair!)

Finally, in case you're interested, No. 26 Saint George's Square and Pimilco both exist, and Stoker did indeed at one point live there. In fact, he died there in April 1912.


End file.
